


Pub Night

by sdk



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Friends With Benefits, M/M, Non-Linear Narrative, Semi-Public Sex, Top Draco
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-22
Updated: 2014-06-22
Packaged: 2018-02-05 19:28:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1829554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sdk/pseuds/sdk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a cramped loo at The Bitter End, what Harry and Draco do is only about one thing: getting off. ...Isn't it?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pub Night

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lamerezouille](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lamerezouille/gifts).



> **TROPE: Friends with Benefits**
> 
>  
> 
>  A/N: Thank you so much to T for the brainstorming and cheerleading support and to J for helping me polish everything up. You guys are seriously the best. Lamerezouille, I was thrilled to get your sign-up! I'm afraid I only managed to hit a couple of your likes and used your prompt as a jumping off point more than anything, but I very much hope you enjoy this regardless!

Potter's breath gusts hot against Draco's throat. His lips skim over Draco's skin, but it's not a kiss. They do not kiss. This thing they do is only about one thing. Right now, it's about getting Potter's trousers undone as quickly as possible so Draco can shove his hand into Potter's pants and feel how hot and hard and ready Potter is for him. 

Draco grasps Potter's erection, pushes him into the wall of the cramped loo stall, and Potter groans. 

"You like that?" Draco pants. The sounds Potter makes are something he's still getting used to. Each little whimper slides down Draco's spine like a whispered caress; every groan makes Draco harder. Draco strokes Potter, fast and firm, angling his own hips to trap his erection against the hard column of Potter's thigh. Potter jerks, unsteady. His fingers wrap around Draco's forearms and his forehead drops to Draco's shoulder and Draco is immersed in the rhythm of Potter's panting and his ragged, whispered pleas. 

"Come—on, Malfoy," he says. "Come—on."

It never takes very long. Their rushed time in the pub's loo always makes Draco feel like he's fourteen again. A rash of heat spreads over Draco's thighs, but his sole focus is on Potter, on the feel of Potter's silky-hard length against his palm and that first splash of come that hits his wrist as Potter gasps into his shoulder. With a few more jerky thrusts against Potter's thigh, Draco's orgasm comes over him seconds later.

Draco allows himself a moment to lean into Potter, to rest against Potter and lay his head on Potter's shoulder. He lets Potter's arms come around his waist and listens to Potter try to catch his breath. Draco only allows himself a moment before he forces himself straight and backs up as far as he can against the opposite stall wall. As he does up his trousers, he feels Potter's magic wash over him, scrubbing his skin clean, erasing all traces of Potter's sweat and his come.

"You all right?" Potter asks, breaking the silence. Draco must look ridiculous, completely knackered from a quick rub and a hand job. He forces a cocky smile; Potter returns it. 

"Never better," Draco says.

Potter rights his clothing and does his typical post-coital awkward shuffling. It would almost be adorable if Draco ever found anything about Potter adorable. 

"I'll stop by the bar? Get us another round?" Potter suggests. 

"Good plan," Draco says. He waits until Potter eases out of the stall before he closes his eyes and sags against the wall.

***

Draco watches as Pansy smiles into her mobile for what had to be the tenth time that evening. Her fingers clack over the small keys—only magic can explain how she manages any sort of accuracy—before she hits the centre button and slides the device back into her clutch.

"And how is the She-Weasel now?" Draco tips back his glass of scotch to hide Pansy's scowl. 

"You're in a mood. I happen to know you adore Ginny, so stop pretending like we're school children again." 

The alcohol burns more than it ought to; Draco hopes it will smother his irritation. It's not Pansy's fault that he hasn't gotten laid in nearly two months and can't remember the last time he had a relationship last more than a week. Not that he's interested in the latter, but regular shagging would be nice. 

"You're right, I'm being a bastard. It's been some time since we've had a night out, just the two of us." 

"That's why we're doing this, aren't we?" Pansy's bangles clatter together as she reaches over to squeeze Draco's wrist. "And I promise, you'll have my undivided atten—"

Pansy's clutch beeps. She gives Draco a weak smile. 

"Go on. I wouldn't want to suffer Ginny's wrath for keeping her girlfriend away from her for two whole minutes." 

"Sarcasm? Is that the best you can do, darling?" Pansy says as she slides her mobile free again.

Draco rolls his eyes. "Yes," he huffs, but Pansy's already lost in her mobile and Draco lets his attention wander around the pub. 

The Bitter End isn't strictly a gay pub, though it does have a certain reputation, and usually there is an array of eye candy to distract himself with, even on a week night. Tonight, however, Draco finds his choices woefully lacking until he lands on a bloke leaning over the bar, ordering a pint. Even from behind, he's a tall, dark-haired specimen of lean muscle with just tight-enough jeans to hint at a spectacular arse. Draco's mouth waters before he can help himself. 

He nearly excuses himself—Pansy clearly can entertain herself with her mobile the rest of the evening—when a ginger woman slides up next to the bloke and Draco leans back with a sigh. 

"Why are they always straight?"

"Promise not to murder me." 

"Why would I? You didn't make them all straight." 

"No, darling, it's only that Ginny..."

Pansy's voice fades as the bloke Draco's been eying turns around and reveals his green eyes and childish round-glasses and a lightning-shaped scar on his forehead....with Ginny Weasley and her beaming smile right next to him. 

Merlin. It was Potter. The whole time. Which means it was Potter's arse that Draco salivated over. The desperation must be getting to him. 

Potter gives a short wave and Draco tips his glass before draining the rest. It's a waste to chug good scotch. Fortunately, this pub doesn't serve good scotch.

"I am going to murder you," Draco says out of the corner of his mouth. 

"I didn't invite them. They're having a night out as well, but I had no idea they were coming here until two seconds ago." Pansy says. "Besides..." She leans in, a wicked twinkle in her eye. "It's not as if you despise Potter any longer. You said yourself, he's your favourite of the whole lot of Gryffindors."

Draco's cheeks flush hot, but thankfully Potter and Ginny are still too far away from the table to overhear. "That was after five shots of firewhisky, and I believe you promised you'd Oblivate yourself afterward."

"I lied." Pansy winks at Draco, then stands as Ginny approaches, wrapping her up in a tight embrace. Potter shifts his weight beside her until Draco pushes the chair next to him out with his foot. Potter sets his pint on the table and starts to sit when he notices Draco's empty glass.

"Need another?"

Draco shakes his head. "Their scotch is shit here." 

He slides his wand out from his sleeve beneath the table and with a discreet roll of his wrist, siphons two fingers from his stores at home to refill his glass. 

"Neat trick."

"It's magic. You ought to try it sometime."

Potter laughs and clinks their glasses together. "Touché." 

This is still something Draco is getting used to—having friendly chats with Potter. Trading quips instead of hexes or glares. If someone had told him five years ago...well, the only way he imagined having a friendly chat with Potter is with Potter in a full body bind at his feet. And in retrospect, that didn't work out so well the first time. 

But, as Draco found out, this is what happens when your best friend dates a Gyrffindor. It never ends with just one. They come in packs and invade your life, like you're all suddenly best mates. They pretend you're _one of them._ Longbottom visits Draco's lab every so often now, usually with a rare breed of some plant or another and an idea of how Draco can use it in his potions experiments. Draco's been the awkward fifth wheel at more than one dinner with Pansy, Ginny, Granger and Weasley; he's even taken to calling Weasley 'Ron' of all things because it got too confusing otherwise. And now he has a semi-regular pick-up Quidditch match with Potter and a few others whenever their schedules align. 

It's too bloody bizarre. 

"Sorry we crashed your twosome," Potter says. Draco shrugs. 

"It was already a threesome. Me, Pans, and her bloody mobile."

"Ginny's the same. It's like an extra appendage at this point."

"Could be, with a well-placed sticking charm..." Draco says. Potter laughs and Draco can't help but smirk. 

"I doubt either of them would notice."

"We can hear you talking about us, you know," Ginny says. Pansy drapes an arm over the back of Ginny's chair and Ginny leans into her. The perfect, vomit-inducing-adorable couple. Whoever thought that Draco would think that about a Weasley?

"Tell me I'm wrong," Potter says, and Ginny whacks his hand from across the table. 

"Change of subject, please! Tell us about work, Harry," Pansy says.

"Oh Merlin, no," Ginny says. 

"Better than hearing about Draco's. All he does is stare into a cauldron all day," Pansy says, and Draco gives her two fingers. 

"Occasionally I do brew something."

"Harry was just telling me about his exciting kitten rescue today." Ginny barely contains a snicker as Potter corrects her with, "It was a kneazle." 

"Yes, yes, an adorable little kneazle, you said. Stuck on top of the Leaky's roof, wasn't it?"

"Typical day at the office for you, Potter? I never knew Auror work could be so glamourous." Draco sits back, satisfied, as Potter's cheeks go pink. 

"Shut it," Potter says. 

"Oh, do tell us." Pansy signals the bartender for another martini; only Pansy can get table service at a pub that doesn't even do food. "Even kneazle rescue is a leg-up from my day." 

"Please tell me you Summoned it," Draco says.

"Accio a kneazle?" Pansy interrupts before Potter can answer. "With their claws and teeth—a hissing ball of pain, are you mad, Draco? Potter is smarter than that."

"Actually..." Potter smiles sheepishly and pushes up his sleeve revealing faded streaks of red across his arm, and Ginny howls in laughter. "It worked though, didn't it?"

"Should have stunned it first." Draco takes a swallow of scotch as Ginny calls him horrible and Pansy snickers. 

Potter rolls his eyes, but then he stares at Draco with this little quirk to his lips and Draco doesn't realize he's staring straight back at him for quite a bit of time until Pansy waves a napkin in his face. 

"You've spilled your scotch. Just there." 

Draco finds a blooming small brown stain on his white shirt and frowns. He quickly excuses himself to the loo and resists glancing back at Potter. He's not certain why he wants to at any rate, but he feels the heat of Potter's gaze following after him.

~

The loo at The Bitter End is small and cramped with only one stall and a urinal jammed next to it. Despite the accommodations, it's still a popular place for a quick fuck, and when Draco opens the door to stifled grunts and heavy breathing, he nearly backs straight out again. 

At least they have the courtesy to use the stall. Once, Draco found a bloke propped against the sink with his trousers around his ankles and his partner's face buried in his arse. 

At The Bitter End, it's rare to take a piss in peace. 

Fortunately, Draco doesn't need a piss. He stands in front of the sink, and trusting that the occupants of the stall are too busy to notice, withdraws his wand to cast a quick Scourgify on his shirt. Just then the loo door swings open and Draco shoves his wand up his sleeve so fast he jams it against the crook of his elbow. 

"Fuck!"

"Just me! Sorry," Potter says. "You can go back to—"

"I'm finished." Draco glares at Potter and rubs the inside of his arm. 

"Do you need...?" Potter cocks his head to the urinal.

"No, no." Draco waves him off. A moan sounds from the stall followed by shushing noises and stifled laughter. Potter wrinkles his brow before his eyes go wide and Draco rolls his. 

"You can't be that innocent," Draco says in a whisper. He returns to the mirror and straightens his shirt. 

Draco hears Potter's zip go down and does his best not to wonder what Potter's cock looks like. Not that Draco is particularly curious, it simply is what one thinks about, Draco tells himself. Perfectly natural. Since it's right there and exposed and if Draco took a tiny step backward and strained his neck a bit, he could probably get a glimpse...but Potter's already finished and doing up his trousers and Draco tells himself that he didn't miss anything. There's no reason to be disappointed; it's only a cock.

"I guess that it's never occurred to me. I've never..." Potter shrugs and comes over to the sink, nudging his hip against Draco's as he turns on the tap to wash his hands. There's really no reason for Draco still be there, only there isn't a clear path to the door, not without practically molesting Potter on his way—so Draco pretends he's making certain his hair is lying flat. His hair is perfect, of course. It always is. 

"You've never...what? Shagged in a loo?" Draco says. He determinedly does not look at Potter, only Potter's eyes find his in the mirror instead as he dries his hands. 

"No. Don't quite get the appeal, I guess." Potter says.

"You've never been so desperate for someone that you couldn't wait?" Draco asks lightly. At least he tries to, but his voice goes kind of funny in the middle. 

"I figured there was always—" Potter glances quickly back at the stall and leans in. His whisper ghosts over Draco's cheek. "Apparition."

Draco swallows. "Sometimes you can't even wait for that." 

"So you have, then? In a loo?"

Draco barely nods. He looks down at his freshly cleaned shirt. He can feel Potter's stare and the warm press of his hip against Draco's own. 

"With Clifford?"

"Who?"

"Clifford. You told me about him a couple months ago, I think?"

"Oh, right. Clifford."

"I take it..."

Draco shakes his head minutely. "No, not him. Didn't last long enough for it to be him."

"And there hasn't been anyone since—"

"No," Draco says quickly, then curses his tongue. He doesn't know why he's admitting his terrible sex life to Potter, only Potter's standing way too close and quiet moans echo all around them and when Draco looks back up and finds Potter's eyes, his brain goes a bit fuzzy.

"It's been longer," Potter says. "For me."

"Is it a competition? Which one of us is more pathetic?" 

Potter cracks a smile. "No. I thought...maybe...since it's been a while for both of us, if you wanted..."

"What—here?" Draco asks, though that's not at all what's meant to come out of his mouth. It should more be along the lines of telling Potter to stop taking the piss or asking how many pubs he and Ginny have crawled through before they ended up at The Bitter End.

"So it's the location you're opposed to and not the person?" Potter's tongue flicks out over his lips in a nervous sort of twitch. It should look ridiculous; it should not make Draco's cock jerk in his pants. But there's something about the raspy edge of Potter's voice that makes Draco's stomach go tight and his nipples tingle, only a little. 

Maybe he's the one who's had way too much to drink. Because his answer comes before he can help it. 

"I'm not opposed to either."

"Really," Potter says. He steps closer, crowding Draco against the wall. His palm comes to Draco's stomach, thumb flicking over the top button of Draco's trousers. Draco takes a breath and beats Potter to the punch, going straight for Potter's crotch. He cups Potter's erection through his jeans and Potter's eyelids flutter.

"Fuck. You really do want this." Draco rubs his thumb along the hard ridge of Potter's dick and Potter's lips part. And suddenly Draco wants nothing more than to hear Potter moan.

"I told you. It's been a while," Potter says.

"Right," Draco says. "For me too." 

"That's why you're about to burst out of your trousers?" Potter asks, He slides his knuckles down along the underside of Draco's erection. Draco can feel every bump even through his trousers. He wants to know what Potter's skin feels like though, without all the fabric in the way. He wants to know what Potter's mouth feels like. 

"Shame the stall is occupied." Potter breathes. 

"Does that mean you're going to stop?" 

"No." Potter's eyes gleam as he undoes Draco's trousers in a practiced move, pushes Draco's hand away and drops to his knees. Right there, on the floor. Right there where anyone could walk into the loo and see. 

"Fuck me," Draco whispers. 

Potter's smile turns wicked. He draws Draco's cock free from his pants, and looks up, his mouth poised and ready. "That's the idea, yeah?" 

Draco can't help but reach down and thread his fingers through that wild mess of Potter's hair. His fingers tumble through black strands, nails blunt against Potter's scalp.

"Merlin-fuck. Yes," Draco rasps. Potter licks his lips, catching the crown with the tip of his tongue and Draco throbs. And then Potter swallows him to the root. 

Potter's done this before. He knows how to use his tongue to tease, how to tighten and suck, how to slip his fingers beneath Draco's balls and tug with just the right amount of pressure. He turns his head and catches the head of Draco's cock with the corner of his mouth on one bob, then sucks Draco back in until he's gagging. Draco's moans come unbidden. His fingers tighten in Potter's hair and with one encouraging squeeze of his buttocks, he starts to thrust, over and over, into Potter's wet, soft mouth. Potter takes it, his eyes never leaving Draco's. Draco's whole body flares with heat and then he's coming and coming, spilling all of himself straight down Potter's throat. 

It couldn't have been more than five minutes. Draco would be embarrassed but he's too drained to care. He sags against the wall as Potter rises, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. 

"I've never seen you so disheveled," Potter says. "Not even after Quidditch." He smiles. Draco gives him two fingers, but smiles back all the same. 

"Give me a minute," Draco says, and that's when he notices Potter's tucking himself back into his jeans. "Wait...did you—"

"Yeah. Sort of couldn't help myself." Potter shrugs. His cheeks flush a faint red. A bead of sweat rolls down his temple. 

"You know the whole point of this was to avoid that sort of thing," Draco says. 

"Git." Potter punches him lightly in the shoulder, like he usually does on the field after a Quidditch match. "Next time."

Potter's eyes go bright. Draco's stomach does a weird twisting thing. He realises his flies are still open so he straightens himself out and rights his clothes. 

"Do you need—" Potter offers his wand, but Draco shakes his head. 

"I'm fine. We probably should get back."

"All right. I'll uhm. I'll go first?" 

Potter leaves. Draco washes his hands. He looks in the mirror. The stall door hangs open; the other occupants must have left sometime during. Draco never even noticed. 

Draco stops by the bar to get another round for the table. They can't have been too long, but it's a handy excuse all the same. Still, when he arrives back, drinks in hand, he's afraid the truth is written all over his face. Especially when Potter gives him this little half-smile as Draco slides him his pint. 

"Potter had a wonderful idea while you were gone," Pansy says. "We should do this more often, the four of us."

"The four of us?" Draco says weakly. 

Pansy gives Draco a look, but Potter pipes up with a big, bright smile. "How about next Thursday?"

***

"Turn around," Draco says. "I want to try something."

Harry shoots Draco a quick grin and turns to face the stall wall. A moment later, he's pressed into it, the heat of Draco's body trapping him against the cool metal. Draco wraps his arms around Harry's waist, his chest flush against Harry's back. Harry feels how hard he is and he can't help but buck his hips back into Draco's erection and feel him slide against Harry's arse. 

Draco chuckles in his ear, and even the gust of his breath makes Harry shiver. 

"Eager, aren't you? We weren't sat at the table for more than a minute before you were dying for the loo."

"Are you complaining?" Harry asks.

"Definitely not." 

Draco works on Harry's belt, deftly sliding it free from the loops. His fingers fumble over the zip and Harry reaches down to help him, but Draco bats his hand away. 

A moment later, Draco shoves both Harry's trousers and pants to his hips and his cock springs free. There's a rustling behind him, a whisper of a spell, then the tell-tale slide of a lubed-up stroke. Harry's breath comes faster; his whole body tingles. 

"Are you going to fuck me?" His chest goes tight and his stomach flips over on itself. Draco wraps an arm around him again, his hand slick around Harry's cock. He gives Harry a pull and then Harry feels him, hard and silky-smooth, nestled between his buttocks. He rolls his hips and bites back a smile when Draco inhales sharply. 

Harry closes his eyes. Draco rubs himself along Harry's cleft. The head of his cock nudges Harry's entrance with the next thrust. Harry's heart beats hard against his chest. 

"I want you to," Harry rasps. "I want you to fuck me."

He feels Draco's lips skim across the back of his neck and shivers everywhere. 

"Not here," he whispers. Draco tightens his fist and gives Harry another stroke. "Not like this."

***

Harry's Floo chimes right as he comes in the door. He directs it to his private fireplace in his bedroom and rushes upstairs after, tossing his Auror traveling cloak on the sofa on his way. He hears Ginny's voice before he even gets there.

"You're late," she calls out. "And your bedroom's a mess." 

"Hello to you too," Harry says on his way to his wardrobe. "And you must be as well. Unless the Ministry is installing Floos in Muggle pubs nowadays."

"Hardly. Pansy sent me to the nearest to see what's keeping you. Someone is getting a little antsy."

"Someone?" 

"Yes. One guess, and it's not Pansy." 

Harry's heart thumps a bit faster in his chest and he hides a smile as he searches for something to change into.

"Sorry. Wrapping up a case." Harry strips off his tunic and sees Ginny making a face in the green flames out of the corner of his eye. 

"Not like you haven't seen it before," he says.

"Doesn't mean I want to see it again."

"You do wonders for my self-esteem."

"And I'm so certain I'm the one you want drooling over you."

Harry chooses not to comment at that, and instead does a quick Scourgify before pulling on a t-shirt. His hair sticks straight up and he frowns in the mirror and tries to press it flat. 

"You could try magic," Ginny says.

"Magic's never worked on my hair, unfortunately."

"I don't see what the fuss is," Ginny says lightly. "It's not as if you're on the pull, are you? It's drinks with me and Pans, like every week."

"And Draco," Harry says.

"Yes. _Draco_ ," Ginny says, and Harry decides that now might be the best time to change the subject since apparently Ginny has decided to stay and chat while he gets ready. 

"Since it's the off-season, you should come to one of our Quidditch pick-up matches. Teach us a thing or two."

"As if I could teach you anything."

"Hey—now you're loads better than I ever was. And you know it."

"True." Ginny grins. "Tell me when the next one is and I'll try." 

"Great." Harry switches out his trousers for jeans and notices that Ginny's turned her head away. He zips them up and turns around to glance at the mirror while he has at least some privacy, but when he catches sight of the Floo again, Ginny is smirking. 

"Does Draco still play?" 

"Sometimes," Harry says. He's determined not to rise to her bait. "He hasn't been to the last couple. The schedule didn't work out."

"Hmm."

"What's this 'hmm'?"

"Maybe he doesn't need to go anymore. Since he sees you every week at the pub now."

"That's not why he plays," Harry says. "He likes Quidditch."

"Maybe he likes you. You know he only joined the Slytherin team because you were on Gryffindor—"

"Where did you get that idea—"

"—And if I recall correctly, he spent more time trying to make you fall off your broom than actually playing."

Harry rolls his eyes. "We were children."

"Yes. And he was pulling your pigtails. Mum always told me that when boys pull your pigtails—"

"I don't have pigtails. And I've no idea what you're talking about," Harry says.

"Mm. All right."

"Ask him tonight, if you don't believe me. He loves Quidditch."

"I said all right, Harry. Not that he's likely to tell me straight out he's only there to ogle your arse."

Heat floods Harry's cheeks and he turns away from the Floo to grab his wand. "I'm ready now, in case you haven't noticed. So you can go back and tell Pansy I'll be there shortly."

"And Draco?" Ginny wiggles her eyebrows.

Harry shoots her a glare and cuts the Floo connection closed to the sound of her laughter. 

~

The stall clicks shut. This is usually the time that Draco goes straight for Harry's flies, but instead, he leans back against the wall and cocks his head. 

"What was all that about Quidditch at the table?"

Harry shrugs. "Something Ginny said. Doesn't matter."

"What did she say."

"That you didn't really like Quidditch."

"Of course I like Quidditch. I _love_ Quidditch," Draco says, lifting his chin. 

"I know," Harry says. 

"I wouldn't go to your Gryffindor-infested pick-up games if I didn't."

"Gryffindor-infested?" Harry smiles. He steps forward and drags his fingers down Draco's tie. He loves it when Draco wears them; he can't remember if he ever told Draco that. "There are a few former Hufflepuffs too. I think a Ravenclaw as well."

"They don't count." 

"No?" 

"The point is, why would I subject myself to that if I didn't love Quidditch?" 

"She thinks you only play because..." Harry says as he loosens the knot and pulls the tie loose, sliding it off Draco's neck. Draco licks his lips and suddenly Harry badly wants to kiss him. They haven't yet. Harry doesn't know why not. 

"Because?" Draco murmurs. 

"Because of me. Daft, right?" 

Draco's eyes are unreadable; his lips tighten at the corners. Harry holds his breath. 

Finally, Draco says very quietly, "Completely."

"We're friends," Harry says. He swallows, taking another step closer in the cramped stall. "It's not as if you need Quidditch as an excuse to see me."

"Friends," Draco says. "Right."

Harry takes Draco's wrists lightly and pushes them up over his head. He watches Draco's Adam's apple bob. His grey eyes go dark, obliterating the tiny flecks of blue Harry can sometimes see when he's this close. 

Harry angles his hips and presses Draco back into the wall; Draco's hard against him and Harry thrums with desire. 

"What are you doing?" Draco whispers. His breath gusts over Harry's lips. Harry rolls his hips ever so slowly, and Draco lets out a faint moan, nearly inaudible. 

"What do you think I'm doing?" 

"Potter," Draco whispers. Another breath closer and Harry would be able to feel Draco's lips moving. "We're in the loo."

"And?" Harry rolls his hips again, but this time Draco rises to meet him and they throb together, trapped beneath layers of fabric. Harry wants to rip them away, but he doesn't want to move back even for the time it would take to push their trousers down. Everything else falls away and nothing else exists at that moment except for the warmth of Draco's breath and his hard body jammed against Harry's.

"This isn't the place for a slow shag," Draco says. 

"Why not?" Harry is so close. With the tiniest head tilt, they'd be kissing. His hands flex against Draco's wrist. Draco's nose brushes his and his lips part. 

"If we take too long, they'll figure it out."

Harry's fairly certain they already know, but he doesn't say this. He doesn't want to do anything that might scare Draco away. So when Draco slips his wrists out of Harry's grip, Harry doesn't resist. When Draco turns his head, Harry doesn't try to kiss him. But Draco presses his face into Harry's cheek. His palms slide to Harry's buttocks and he squeezes them as they rock together.

***

Harry presses his face into the mattress as Draco curls two fingers inside him, slowly pumping in and out. He's been at it for what feels like forever, brushing over that place every so often that makes Harry's whole body tingle and tighten. He dips down to lick along the rim, then thrusts tongue inside until Harry moans and pleads for more.

Harry's not above begging, but apparently Draco will not be rushed. 

"You told me," Draco says. "It's been a while. Have to make certain you're nice and ready." He follows that with a scrape of teeth along Harry's arse cheek, the perfect edge of pain to go along with the pleasure Draco's pulling from his body. 

Harry bites his lip and swallows back the truth: He's never done this before. Not like this, at least. 

Finally, Draco withdraws his fingers, but Harry feels empty and aching until the blunt head of Draco's cock nudges his entrance. 

"Are you ready?" Draco whispers. 

"Fuck—yes. Do it already." 

Harrys squeezes his eyes shut as Draco slides inside.

***

Draco's the last to arrive at The Bitter End, and when he heads to their usual table, there are two gingers instead of the expected one, and one of them is in his seat.

"Ronald," Draco greets. He stares at the extra chair squeezed between Pansy and Ron. The chair at which he's clearly expected to sit. There's a glass of scotch in front of it, waiting for him. 

"You sound like my mum when I'm in trouble," Ron says. "Did you bring another round? Last to the table is supposed to bring another round."

"I've only just got the first round," Ginny says. "Hi, Draco. Don't listen to him."

Draco nods to her as he sits. "Aren't you a little old to be in trouble with your mother?"

"You're never too old to get a tongue lashing from Mrs. Weasley," Potter says. Potter gives him a hesitant smile. Draco folds his arms over his chest.

"Why, Potter, I didn't know you went for older women," Pansy says. Ron face screws up as if he bit into a particularly nasty Bertie Bott's flavored bean—earwax, perhaps, or dirty sock. Draco has a happy moment imagining Potter eating the same as Ginny smacks Pansy's arm. 

"That's my mum, you know."

"No wonder you're so talented with your tongue lashes," Pansy says. 

"I'm not pissed enough for this conversation," Ron says as Pansy cackles and Ginny pinches Pansy's arm until she yelps. Ron takes a huge swallow of lager. Potter mouths 'Sorry' from across the table. Draco shrugs. 

Conversation buzzes around him, but Draco doesn't pay enough attention to contribute. He takes swallow after healthy swallow of scotch, but the burn does nothing to soothe his annoyance, especially with Potter across the table, constantly trying to catch his eye and give him these little apologetic smiles. Like a puppy. As if Draco were soft enough to melt for a stupid, messy-haired, hopelessly useless puppy. 

Draco harrumphs. He doesn't realise he's made the sound aloud until Pansy nudges him with her elbow. "What's with you?" she asks quietly as Ginny and Ron argue about the Cannon's chances in the upcoming season. 

"Nothing," Draco says. 

Potter stands. "I need the loo." He gives Draco a pointed look. He coughs. "You know, if anyone needed to go as well."

Draco starts to stand when Ron pipes up, "Yeah, mate. I'll go with you. Good time as any to break the seal."

"You, too?" Pansy asks Draco. He glares at her and her gleaming eyes and quirking smile. "I thought it was us girls who all went to the loos together."

Ginny hides a laugh behind her hand; Potter stands awkwardly, shifting from one foot to the other. 

"What's the joke?" Ron says. 

"Nothing." Draco says. "I'm going to get the round I believe I owe the table? Excuse me."

"I'll help you carry," Potter says.

Ron looks back and forth between Draco and Potter, shakes his head and shuffles off towards the mens. Draco smooths down his shirt. He heads for the bar. He hears Potter following directly behind him. 

"I can manage on my own," Draco grumbles. He reaches the bar with Potter arriving only a couple steps behind. 

"What was that?"

"I said I can manage, if you need the loo."

"Come on, Draco. There are five of us, tonight."

Draco glares at him. 

"I'm sorry," Potter says. "Hermione's at a conference and he asked if he could tag along. What was I supposed to say?"

"No?" Draco suggests. 

"I thought you two got on now? You do at the pick-up matches, at least."

"Ron's mostly all right. He's nice—fine." Draco waves his hand. "That's not the point, and you know it."

"Did you just call Ron nice?" Harry teases. He's trying to lighten the mood, Draco can tell. Draco narrows his eyes and Harry's smile fades. 

"Sorry." Harry says. "That's not the point, either."

The bartender arrives. It turns out to be a good thing Potter followed him as Draco can't seem to remember anyone's usual drink. "That's two olives, for the martini," Potter finishes as Draco reaches for his wallet. But Potter stills his hand.

"I've got this."

"It's my round," Draco says.

Potter traces his thumb over Draco's knuckles before dropping his hand. Just that simple touch makes Draco's pulse race. He fumbles through his wallet and lays some notes on the bar. 

Potter leans in. "We can still sneak away. A bit later."

"What if I'm tired of it?" Draco asks before he can stop himself. He doesn't quite mean it—he doesn't know what he means, but when Potter pulls back with round wounded-puppy eyes and a defeated expression, Draco badly wishes he could take it back.

"Tired of what?" Potter asks. 

"Nothing. Forget it."

Potter frowns. He reaches out and touches Draco's elbow, but drops his hand quickly as if he's been caught doing something he oughtn't. His jaw is set, though. He won't let this go, Draco knows. 

Draco tries to shrug casually. "Just the loo. Having it off in the loo."

"So...it's the location. Not the person?" Potter asks. He gives Draco a hesitant little smile and Draco's chest goes tight. He doesn't know why this is affecting him so, but his heart thumps hard and he can't seem to make his mouth work. 

So he nods. Potter's smile widens. "Do you want to go back to mine, then?"

Their drinks arrive. Draco picks up the nearest without looking and guzzles it. Potter looks half-amused and half-alarmed, and Draco quickly figures out he needs to order Pansy a fresh martini. 

He feels a tiny bit calmer though. At least able to speak. 

"What about Ron?"

"He's not invited," Potter says. He eases a bit closer and slips his hand to Draco's waist under the bar. His fingers curl into Draco's shirt and Draco's breath comes a bit faster.

"I wasn't suggesting a threesome."

"Good. He's not my type." Potter's lips quirk. "Besides, I think Hermione might have something to say about that."

Draco feels himself smile. "I think Ron would have something to say about that."

"So...after this round?"

"Don't you think that might be obvious?"

"I'm fairly certain they know. I don't care. Unless you—"

"No," Draco says. "I don't either."

Potter leans in; his tongue darts out over his lips. He cups Draco's jaw. His breath smells faintly of whisky—all spicy and hot—and Draco never knew how badly he wanted to kiss Potter until this moment. 

"Good," Potter whispers. He hovers close and Draco decides he's tired of waiting. He twists a hand into Potter's shirt and jerks him the rest of the way forward and finally, in front of the whole pub, they kiss.

~

It's easier than Draco expected to make his excuses and slip outside to wait for Potter. The night's gone cold, but the breeze feels like a balm to his cheeks and it helps quiet the bundle of nerves bouncing around Draco's stomach. It's ridiculous, really. It isn't as if this is the first time Draco's gone home with someone after the pub.

Just the first time with Potter.

The door swings open, but instead of Potter and his little half-smile and atrocious hair, Draco's met with Ronald's tight jaw and closely-cropped ginger. 

"Harry needed the loo. He'll be right out."

"I wasn't waiting," Draco says and Ron shakes his head. 

"I'm not daft, you know."

Draco smirks and says, "Right. You must be very clever because you've had me fooled this whole time."

"Har, Har." Ron punches Draco lightly in the shoulder. Then he stops, cocks his head to the side, and Draco gets the rather unpleasant feeling that he's being sized up. And perhaps about to be punched again, only much harder, and although Draco is fairly confident in his dueling skills, he's not so certain how he'd fare in a fist fight. 

"You don't need me to tell you that if you hurt him, I'll hex your balls off, yeah?"

"We're only friends—" Draco protests and just in case, slides his wand down to his palm, but Ron breaks into a grin and clasps his shoulder. 

"And I'm Father Christmas." After another pat, Ron takes off, waving behind him before he disappears into the alley. "See you around, Malfoy."

***

Every so often, Harry sees it, if he's quick enough to catch it. That rare moment when Draco's guard drops. When he smiles with no curl of a smirk to his lips; when his eyes are soft and open, not narrowed and sharp; when his face relaxes in sleep, as he is now, and all the worry lines fade away and there is only the slight smile of his pink lips and his long blond eyelashes and blissful perfect peace.

Harry's taken to watching him like he is now, while he can, in the dead of night. At least until Draco rolls over and his arm flops over Harry's stomach. His hair tickles Harry's chin as he snuggles down; his lips ghost over Harry's skin.

"Malfoy?" Harry whispers. He listens to Draco's breath, slow and steady until the warmth of Draco's body lulls him back into a relaxing haze. It's only then that he lets his arm come around Draco, only then that he drags his hand down along the curve of Draco's spine, letting his fingertips trace through the drying sweat and the softness of his skin. And it's then that Harry believes that this thing between them...maybe it can work after all.

***

Draco collapses in the centre of Harry's bed, legs spread beneath tangled sheets, his arms draped over his head, giving Harry a peek at the dark blonde hairs of his underarms. Harry wants to wiggle his fingers there, see if the hair is as soft as everywhere else on Draco's body—see if Draco is frightfully ticklish and smacks his hand away, but Harry manages to resist.

"Now I really know what you look like completely disheveled," Harry says. Draco doesn't bother to open his eyes; he gives Harry two fingers, and Harry chuckles and flops down on the bed beside him. 

It's quiet except for their breathing, growing steadier, and Harry wonders if Draco's fallen asleep, until Draco's arm comes down and he rests his palm on Harry's stomach. 

"I've never done that before," Harry says. "I probably should have told you before. Didn't want to scare you off."

Draco lifts his head and cracks open his eyes. "You're not trying to tell me you were a virgin, Potter. Because I don't believe you."

"No—no, bottomed. I've never bottomed before."

"Oh." Draco's smile goes soft around the corners. He turns to his side and trails a fingers up the centre of Harry's chest. "Why would that scare me off? It's bloody hot."

"Oh, shove off."

"So you've only topped then?"

"Yeah. No reason why. It's the way it worked out. I think I like it better this way though."

"Really?"

"At least with you." A moment after he says it, Harry hears how completely daft it sounds and he cringes. "That was dreadfully corny, wasn't it?"

"Dreadfully," Draco agrees. His lips quirk and he dips down to kiss Harry lightly. 

Harry doesn't know how he went so long without kissing Draco. 

"Can you stay?" Harry whispers as their lips part. Draco hovers for a moment before he settles back on his side, propping his head up with one hand. 

"That depends," Draco says. "How good of a cook are you?"

"Why's that?"

"If I'm staying, I want breakfast."

"I've been known to do a mean fry-up from time to time."

"I suppose that's acceptable."

Draco rolls to his other side and bunches up his pillow before settling down. Harry's not certain what's appropriate; it's been a long time since he's ever asked anyone to stay over, but he moves closer and tentatively presses a palm to Draco's hip. After a moment, Draco grabs his hand and pulls it around to his stomach, forcing Harry closer. 

Harry smiles into the back of Draco's neck. "Maybe next week we could go somewhere different. Some place that does food."

"Dinner? With Pans and Ginny?" Draco asks.

"I was thinking just the two of us," Harry says. He tries to sound casual. He's always been terrible at this sort of thing. It's a bit weird to be nervous about asking someone out when he's curled naked around them in bed, though, he thinks. 

Draco glances over his shoulder. "That sounds like a date, Potter."

"Yeah. It does."

"All right," Draco says. He smiles a little before relaxing back into his pillow. Harry closes his eyes and listens to Draco breathe until he falls asleep, smiling a little too.

_fin_


End file.
